The Lord's Arrival
"How much time have I left?" I inquired, speaking in a low and measured tone.
"-In about thirty minutes, he will arrive," the servant answered.
"I must wash my face. Bring me water," I stated decisively.
"-Yes, sir."
I detected the faintly confused inflection in his voice. He probably hadn't thought I would actually go through with it, take the appropriate steps to ready myself.
In the past, whenever a day like that came, I would have a tantrum. I would throw things around, yell at the world, because the morning had had the audacity to wake me up. I had lost count of the number of things I had broken in the house over those tantrums.
Why? Maybe it was my unease with the idea of confronting my father, the Lord of the Fireheart clan.
Nothing was different in that feeling, but now, flight was not possible. This time, I had to stand and face it.
I washed my face before putting on my formal clothes, the material a crisp touch against my skin. My servant helper appeared to shiver with fear, as if bracing for another tirade.
Does he expect me to throw everything in the room about again? I thought, with a small smile playing at the edge of my mouth.
I mean… only a child of ten would do something like that.
'…Then again, I did do it,' I confessed to myself.
Completely ready, I went outside, right away encountering a row of stares. Whispers arose around me, blown away by the gentle spring wind.
"-I'm surprised he's willing to see his father," one whispered.
"-He always threw a tantrum because he didn't want to wake up in the morning…"
I could hear them all. Honestly, it was polite to refer to my previous outbursts as 'tantrums'—they were closer to storms of destruction.
When two of the whisperers caught my gaze, they involuntarily bowed, surprised, but I waved them away, gently dismissing them.
What would I have done previously? Ah… most likely scolded both of them, and they would most likely have been banished from the clan the following day.
'Let's not think too much about it…' I grumbled.
Stepping forward, my gaze dropped on flowers just coming into bloom. The outside world pulsed with the new heat of spring, the opposite of the cold, dark days I had left behind in the Martial Alliance.
Then the world had looked always in autumn or winter, harsh and unforgiving.
Well… I didn't even know what season it was when I passed away. Maybe my obsession with these flowers was just a byproduct of having the time to appreciate them.
"It's probably the latter," I whispered.
"Huh?" my escort, Kevin, prompted.
"Nothing," I said, keeping my eyes on the horizon.
Eventually, making our way through a number of manors and gardens in flower, we reached the Fireheart clan's front gate. The crowd was already gathered there—faces I hardly recalled, glimpsed only briefly over the last days.
Each one of them stopped dead at seeing me, their surprise clear, but they all bowed deeply as a sign of respect. I stood aghast at being accorded such a manner of treatment after so long, yet I covered it up.
After passing the bowing crowd, there were not many left—only those who refused to offer the traditional respect. One of them stepped forward and spoke in plain terms.
"…I must say that I did not think you would be here."
She was a girl, maybe twenty at the most, her hair long and neatly tied. She was certainly beautiful, but there was a warrior's confidence in her stance as well as in the piercing intensity of her gaze.
Among the younger women of the clan, not many were able to show me disrespect, but under the age of twenty, there was one.
Mio Fireheart.
My sister, the Flaming Sword, destined to be revered throughout the Martial World.
But today, in this momentary lapse, she was just my sister.
"It's mandatory for me to be here," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Mio snorted. "And you, the whole time, didn't make the effort to come out knowing so?" Her tone was laced with iciness, almost as sharp as her words.
She was correct. I had always dodged my duties, fleeing from what I knew I must confront.
"I don't know why I did that either," I confessed softly.
"…What?"
"I confess I was in error. I'll apologize to the Lord of the clan later on," I continued, trying to keep my tone even.
Mio's face twitched with confusion, but she talked again almost immediately.
"I don't know what type of act you're attempting to perform, but if you're attempting to play tricks on others, I recommend that you desist at once, or else I will be very angry."
She walked away and left me to quietly sigh. This was not going to be easy.
"The Lord of the clan is coming," a servant said.
I stood up and walked toward the gate. In the distance, I saw a carriage coming steadily towards the compound. Its red horse was huge, at least double the size of regular horses, and it galloped steadily onward without slowing.
The carriage arrived at the gate much faster than I had anticipated, considering how far away it was.
As the door swung open, a middle-aged man came down—a long scar running across half his face, his robes crimson deep, marking him as belonging to the Fireheart clan.
Several in the crowd refused to look at him; his piercing red eyes were sufficient to inspire obedience.
Father.
The Lord of Emberhold, leader of the Fireheart clan, my father—Loret Fireheart—stood before me. One of the few surviving masters of the Martial Alliance, his very presence emanated authority.
His gaze swept the crowd before landing for a moment on me. I returned his look firmly, remembering the fear it had inspired in childhood.
His attention wavered for a moment, then returned to scanning the gathering, a silent but commanding figure. That was my father—always measured, always calm.
"My Lord. I'm relieved you made it back without any issues," a subordinate greeted respectfully.
"General," Father responded brusquely.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Is there anyone in standby swordsmen?"
"The first team has just returned and is resting. The fourth team is in standby," replied the answer.
"Then tell the chief of the fourth team to come visit me before sundown."
"Yes, sir. Welcome back, my Lord."
With that short exchange, Father went into the clan grounds, his footsteps quiet but heavy with command. The crowd dispersed in instinctive respect, and I trailed behind.
Looking at his back, still broad and commanding, I felt both awe and a flicker of fear.
Returning to the past was miraculous, but the problems ahead were immense.
'Regardless, I'm glad to be here now,' I thought. Returning any later would have rendered my efforts useless. This was a chance few could ever hope for.
– Stomp.
Father stopped abruptly.
"Third son will visit my room after dinner," he stated without looking around.
Third son. That would be me, I assumed.
Why? Why me, and not any of the others? The why seemed infinite, yet none in particular jumped out.
"Yes, Father," I answered quickly, maintaining a calm voice in spite of the storm of questions within.
His footsteps returned, padding softly through the grounds.
Before dinner, I had already made up my mind regarding the first priority—the first important step since my return to this new life.
"Kevin," I whispered at my escort.
"Yes, young master," he answered, alert.
"Take me to a medic before dinner."
Kevin's expression revealed concern.
"D-Do you feel sick?"
"…No. It would surely make me ill to eat as I am now. I will be preparing some digestive medicine in advance."
"Oh…" he whispered, still uncertain but compliant.